


Sinners and Saints

by bigsadenergy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, Major Character Injury, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsadenergy/pseuds/bigsadenergy
Summary: She's an unknown quantity; an ageless, nameless girl dug from a shallow grave and brought back to life. She carried no personal possessions at the time of her would-be death to give any indication of who she might have been. With no past to hold onto, she forges her way forward with nothing but a vendetta and a borrowed gun.He's a broken man, who's lost everything. The only light at the end of the tunnel is a bloody death, taking as many of those who hurt him down with him as he can manage.She was not part of his plan.It seems almost like fate, if either of them believed in it, that these two should meet. Maybe they could save each other, or maybe they’re both just doomed anyway.But the Mojave has a funny way of playing with people, doesn’t it?
Relationships: Craig Boone & Courier (Fallout), Craig Boone/Female Courier, Craig Boone/Original Female Character
Kudos: 9





	1. Tell That Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back.   
> I've written a similar fic to this and I've left it up. This is kind of a rewrite/reworking of that fic. Hopefully, it's better, haha.   
> Fair warning, I'm not planning on pulling punches in this fic. It's gonna have some graphic violence as well as mental health-related things like addiction, self-harm, etc. I'll do trigger warnings and stuff, of course, but I want to put that out there from the get-go. Don't come for me because something was triggering, I've warned you. The last thing I want to do is upset someone.  
> Check out my tumblr, frog-in-shroom-hat, for updates. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/frog-in-shroom-hat

_ Tell that devil to take you back, take you back, take you back _

_ My heart went from red to black, red to black, red to black _

_ Came up from that lake of fire, lake of fire, lake of fire _

_ Only had that one desire, one desire _

_ Got a mouth full of gasoline _

_ Don't you bring your mind in me _

_ Well I gave you all I got to give _

_ I know that ain't no way to live _

_ So I told that devil to take you back _

_ I told that devil to take you back _

_ -Tell That Devil, Jill Andrews _

_ “Upon him I will visit famine and a fire, _

_ Till all around him desolation rings _

_ And all the demons in the outer dark _

_ Look on amazed and recognize _

_ That vengeance is the business of a man.” _

_ ― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind _

In the dim light of the early morning sun peeking through the boarded-up motel windows, Courier Six grips her pencil tightly. It’s poised above a blank page in an old, dusty leather-bound journal. Sunny Smiles had given it to her, back in Goodsprings. A gift.

The idea of a gift is strange to Six. It is strange in its kindness, the act of giving something and expecting nothing in return. But to Six, it brings with it an echo of debts, of owing something.

She supposes she owes nothing. Perhaps Sunny saw it as repayment for her help in defending the town from the Powder Gangers. But Six had seen that as a sort of repayment to the whole town, for their kindness to her. 

After all, Doc Mitchell had saved her life, putting back together the pieces of her skull after someone in a checkered suit had planted two bullets in her head. Sunny had given her an old gun and reminded her how to use it (although she seemed to have some muscle memory left in that regard). Trudy had shown her a sort of motherly kindness that made Six’s heart ache for something she couldn’t even remember.

That had been the reason for Sunny’s gift. Memory. 

_ “Write down anythin’ you can think of, _ ” Sunny had said.  _ “Any memory. Any clue. Hell, keep track of what yer up to, too, that way there’s no chance of forgettin’again.” _

Six is doing just that, or trying. 

She started the night before she left Goodsprings. She didn’t have the patience for a full-blown diary entry, so she just put things in bullet points. She recorded the events of the fight with the Powder Gangers and everything leading up to it. She wrote about waking up in the Doc’s place and hunting Gecko’s with Sunny and fixing that radio for Trudy. 

Her handwriting is chicken scratch at best, but she writes anyway. 

Then, once she had recorded everything she was sure of, she moved to the less clear things. The man in the checkered suit, the bullets ripping through her skull. Those things had left her memory in shambles. She can’t even piece together her own damn name. 

She thinks it might start with a D. That was the name Johnson Nash had down on the Mojave Express records.  _ D.B.  _ It feels as though it’s balancing on the tip of her tongue, but, even though she wracks her brain hard, she can’t think of it. She flips to the inside front cover and scrawls a capital D underneath the  _ COURIER SIX  _ she’d written in big letters. 

Here’s what she does know: She is Courier Six. She was delivering a package to the New Vegas strip. She was one of six couriers for the Mojave Express tasked with one of these packages. Someone, for some reason, wanted her package badly enough to kill her over it. 

She wishes she couldn’t remember the killing bit, but now she knows intimately what it feels like to die. 

There’s still a bandage around her head, a bit of rust-colored blood peeking through on the right side. If she were to unwrap it, which she hasn’t done since she left Goodsprings, there’d be two fresh wounds, stitched up carefully. They still ache. The doc said they may never stop aching. 

There’s no lead in her skull anymore, and the pieces were put back together as best as anyone could, but the damage has already been done. 

When she closes her eyes, Six can still see the flash of the gun. The shots still ring in her ears, especially when she’s drifting to sleep. She can still smell gunsmoke, still taste the copper of blood and the dirt in her mouth. 

They say when something is resurrected, it does not come back whole. Maybe she is only part of a person, now. She’d like to forget what it felt like to die, just like she’d forgotten everything else.

There are clues, a few things found on her broken body when the robot carried her to the Doc, or in the shallow grave where the man in the checkered suit tried to bury her. 

There are a hat and duster, old. The hat is big and dark, with a wide brim and beads around the middle. It fits snuggly on her head, like it has spent a lot of time there. It is undeniably hers, although, much to her dismay, there is nothing on it that could identify her. The duster is also big and made of dark leather. It’s well used. Its pockets are empty, save for a half-empty pack of cigarettes and exactly eighteen caps. It was clearly made for a tall man, but Six wears it all the same. It feels right. 

There are the dog tags around her neck, probably the best clue she has. They’re NCR tags, but not hers. Neither of them has names that feel like hers. 

The first says  _ Milo Keegan _ , along with a serial number. The second says  _ Hunter Blanch _ . These names must’ve meant something to her if she carried them with her on that cold, silver chain around her neck. In Primm and at the Mojave Outpost, she’d asked around the NCR camps about the names, but no one knew anything. Just like her own name, their connection to her lingers just out of reach. 

She has scars too. They tell a story of some kind. One angry-looking claw mark on her right thigh. The doc told her it looked like a Deathclaw had done it, but it was at least a year or two old. There are some on her back, too, long, angry lash marks. Those, she thinks, are even older. 

There’s a thin one on her lip. She only noticed it when she examined her own face in the bathroom mirror at the Saloon in Goodsprings, already startled by the stranger she found staring back at her. It’s clean and small and undeniably average.

And then there are the ones on her wrists, crisscrossing and layering over each other, some clean and straight, some unsteady, some so small and faded she can only see them if she looks hard. These scars make her think there are some things she might be okay with forgetting. 

A few others: a circular one on her left shoulder, probably a bullet, and a thin one down the center of her stomach, some kind of knife most likely. 

She’s recorded these scars too, in her notebook, described them and the conclusions they have led her to draw about herself.

Now, she reaches the next blank page. She’s already recorded the events since the previous time she sat and wrote. The last time was at the Mojave Outpost, at the bar while she drank away some of her few caps on watered-down beer.

Since then, she’d gone through Nipton, encountered the horrors there. She’s taken into account something one of the survivors had told her, records it with an underline.  **Legion, with slaves, headed east.**

Six doesn’t fancy herself a saint. Her guns are borrowed, stolen, or picked up off of corpses. Her goal is not to save anyone, except for herself, maybe. She just wants to find the man in the checkered suit, find out who she is from him, and then feel the life leave his body. 

She’s no saint, but the scent of the smoke in Nipton still haunts her too. Those bodies strung up on their crosses, the cold, uncaring voice of Vulpes Inculta. The only thing that stopped her from attacking the man was the reinforcements with him. They would have torn her apart in minutes. 

She’s no saint, but every time she thinks of Legion, she sees red. There’s an anger she feels at the mention of them, a familiarity about their garbs and their cruel ways that makes her wonder if she once had some connection, some personal reason to hate them.

She thinks of those slaves, headed east. She doesn’t know if that's the direction she needs to go in, but a part of her still wants to follow them. What would she even do? What chance would she even stand? All she has is a stolen revolver and a borrowed, nearly broken varmint rifle. She has a knife too, picked up off a lone legionnaire she shot, and its weight feels familiar in her hand when she slips it from the sheath on her thigh. 

Once she’s written all that down, she decides she needs a smoke. 

She must’ve been a heavy smoker because she always seemed to ache for a cigarette. 

Six heads outside, cigarette in her mouth. The sky is just starting to turn pale blue and orange in the east, but the sun hasn’t peeked over the distant hills yet. 

Novac is a quiet place, almost peaceful if there is such a thing as a peaceful place anywhere now. Six thinks that maybe, just maybe, once she’s found Benny and found herself, she could come to a place like this and stay. Maybe.

She makes her way up, through the dinosaur. She’s expecting Manny to be up there; that's where he was yesterday evening when she got into town. He seems like a friendly enough guy, even if he is extorting her, getting her to clear out those ghouls at REPCONN before he tells her shit about the man in the checkered suit. She understands though. This is his home and he wants to protect it. Same as folks in Goodsprings and Primm and probably everywhere else.

It’s not Manny she finds in the dinosaur's mouth this morning, though.

He’s wearing the same red beret as Manny, but that’s about where the similarities end. Manny is shorter, with a round, friendly face and soft eyes. This man is tall. His eyes are narrow and hard, suspicious. His lips are set in a thin, stubborn line. 

He’s all edge. It’s in the way he stands, the way he holds his rifle, the set of his shoulders, and the narrow slits of his eyes. He’s got the look of a man who hasn’t relaxed in a long time. 

Six vaguely remembers Manny and Jeannie May mentioning a nighttime sniper, now that she thinks about it. She supposes that’s who’s pointing a rifle at her right now.

“Goddammit,” he says, voice low and tense. He lowers his weapon, apparently deciding she’s not a threat. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. What do you want?”

Six laughs, taking a drag of her cigarette. “Wanted to watch the sunrise.”

“Well, do it somewhere else.” He turns back around. “There’s nothing up here.”

“There’s a sniper up here,” Six points out, leaning lazily against the door.

He shoots her a glare. “I think you should leave.”

She sighs. “Just making friendly conversation.”

He bristles. “I don’t have friends here.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to  _ be _ your friend.” She takes another long drag and gazes out at the sunrise. 

He makes a hmph sound. “You just got into town? Maybe you shouldn’t go, not just yet.”

She raises an eyebrow and glances back at him. He meets her eyes and she thinks they might be green, but she can’t really tell with his sunglasses on. 

“Why’s that?”

“I need someone I can trust. You’re a stranger. That’s a start.”

“You only trust strangers?” Six quips.

“I said it’s a start.” He shoots her another glare, one which she ignores. “No one in this town looks me straight in the eye anymore.”

“Fair enough,” she says. “What do you want?”

“I want you to find something out for me. I don't know if there's anything to find, but I need someone to try. My wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch. They knew when to come and what route to take, and they only took Carla. Someone set it up. I don't know who.”

“You’re trying to track down your wife?” Six asks. A wave of sympathy for the man crashes over her. 

“My wife’s dead,” he says with a certainty that sends chills down Six’s spine. “I want the sunuvabitch who sold her.”

Ah, so it’s a revenge mission then. That’s something Six can understand, something she does understand.

She nods. “What do I do if I find them?”

He takes off her beret and holds it out to her. “Bring him out in front of the nest here while I'm on duty. I work nights. Put this on. It'll be our signal, so I know you're standing with him. And I'll take care of the rest. I need to do this myself.”

“Okay,” Six says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The man gives her a strange look. “Good. I'll make it worth your while. And one more thing. We shouldn't speak again. Not until it's over. No one in town knows that I know what happened to my wife. Best they never know. Or the Legion will be after me next.”

“Alright,” Six agrees.

She takes a last drag of her cigarette before dropping it and smashing it with her booted foot. She gazes back out over the desert again. The sun is beginning to peek over the hills. It fills her with a longing she can’t explain. 

“Beautiful morning,” she says softly. 

He looks at her curiously. “Guess so.”

“You probably see this every day, huh?”

“Yeah.” He nods. 

She sighs, trying to imagine having a home to protect. Maybe she does, but she can’t remember it.

“See ya ‘round,” she says finally and exits the dinosaur. 

~

Two days later, the blonde stranger appears in front of the dinosaur. It’s very late, damn near three in the morning. She’s got someone with her, as agreed. He can’t quite see who it is at first, but a wave of fury rushes over him. 

He’d caught sight of her leaving town the same day he’d asked his favor from her. He hadn’t been shocked. She’s a stranger, after all. How can he expect someone he’s known for all of two hours to do him such a large favor.

But she returns that evening, tired and dustier than when she left. She passes him as he heads up to the dino for his shift and she shoots him a little smile.  _ I haven’t forgotten _ , it says.

He moves his scope so he can see more clearly. The other person is Jeannie May Crawford. The stranger removes her overly large, black cowboy hat with a flourish and puts the beret on. The signal.

Boone takes the shot only a second later. 


	2. Used to the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six and Boone take on some Legionnaires.

_ I've made mistakes, Lord struck me down _

_ Caught in a landslide, lost underground _

_ I hear them gates, swing open wide _

_ Come close to midnight, hell fade me down _

_ And then my eyes got used to the darkness _

_ And everyone that I knew _

_ Was lost and so long forgotten after you _

_ Now would you pray before you twist the knife? _

_ Yeah, would you take my hand and take a life? _

_ I'm too damn young to give up on the light _

_ I'm used to the darkness, I'm used to the darkness _

_ -Used to the Darkness, Des Rocs _

_ “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” _

_ ― Mary Oliver _

“So that’s it, then,” Boone says when the stranger reappears in the doorway of the dino’s mouth. He was expecting to feel… lighter? Better? Free? But he doesn’t. “How’d you know?”

She reaches into the pocket of her comically large duster and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “Found this bill of sale in her safe.”

He takes it, skimming the words. “Like them to keep paperwork,” he chuckles bitterly, but there’s no humor in those words.

She nods, looking off into the distance. 

Her eyes are a misty blue, particularly in this light. He noticed it before, but it feels like a stab in the gut. She looks like Carla.

Honestly, only a little. They’re both blonde, but the stranger's hair is platinum, nearly white. Carla’s was sandier and far less tangled. Carla ran a brush through it more than once every few days. She had kept it long too. The stranger's hair was cropped to her chin. 

And where Carla was tall and curvy, like an old-school pin-up model, the stranger is small and lean, narrow under her large hat and jacket. 

So, while their eyes are the same color and shape, and their jaws are both long and narrow, they are worlds apart. Boone supposes he’s just looking for bits of Carla in everything. 

“What will you do now?” She asks, looking him in the eyes. 

“I don't know.” He hadn’t really thought about it before. “I won't be staying, I know that. Don't see much point in anything right now, except hunting legionaries. Maybe I’ll wander, like you. What about you?”

“Guess I’ll keep to the trail, head up the road to Boulder City.”

Boone squints at her. “Ain’t much there, since concrete production stopped. What’s waiting there for you?”

Her face twists into a mirthful smirk, eyes glinting with a familiar sort of fury. “An old friend.”

Something about her face and tone makes Boone shiver. It’s the first time she’s seemed like someone who could actually be dangerous. Sure, she didn’t bat an eye when he made his request, nor did she flinch when Jeannie May’s head exploded in a rain of blood and brain bits right next to her, but Boone has a difficult time imagining her clearing out all the ghouls at REPCONN or fending off legionaries, raiders, and unfriendly wildlife on the road. 

She chews her lower lip. “You could come with me.”

“To Boulder City?” The offer surprises him. He doesn’t even know her name. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Why’s that?” She meets his eyes again. “I thought snipers worked in pairs.”

“Hnh. Yeah. Working on your own, you're a lot less effective. I've been there and paid for it. But this isn’t gonna end well.”

She shrugs. “Does anything ever end well?”

“Suppose not.”

She glances at the pip-boy on her wrist. “Ya know, got a tip a couple days back. On my own… counldn’ta done much. But the two of us… that might just work.”

Boones raises an eyebrow. “A tip?”

“Legion party, with slaves, headed east from Nipton. If we hurried, we might be able to catch up with them. Interest you?”

Boone cracks an honest-to-god grin. “It sure does.”

~

The stranger's name is Six. He finally learns that as they move out of Novac. At dawn, Boone knocks on Manny’s door to tell him that he’s leaving with the stranger. It’s a strange decision that he’s made, but it feels like the best one right now. Manny doesn’t offer an opinion, not that Boone cares much whether he supports this or not. 

And so they set out. Boone guesses the slavers are heading towards Cottonwood Cove and the pair is able to draw a route they should take to intercept based on that. 

Six doesn’t know the area very well. She’s not from around here, that much is clear. 

Once they’ve got their route set, they walk in almost complete silence. Sometimes one or the other points out a figure on the horizon, a potential threat. Once, Six comments on the heat. A few times, she offers him water from her canteen, which he takes without question. He knows better than to walk any distance in the wastes without a few sips of water. 

Every so often, she says something small, asks him a question. These questions don’t make much sense to Boone, but he answers shortly. 

“The name Benny mean anything to you?” She asks, early on.

He shakes his head. “Can’t say it does.”

A little while later, while fingering the dog tags that rest against her collarbone (they’re NCR, much like Boone’s own, but she doesn’t strike him as the soldier sort. Ranger maybe, but she seems too young for that), she asks, “Ever heard of anyone named Hunter Blanch?”

Boone thinks for a moment. He’s known a few Hunter’s, but none with that last name. “No.”

“How about a Milo Keegan?” 

“Knew a Lily Keegan, back in First Recon.” Boone remembers Lily. They’d enlisted around the same time, been recruited to First Recon around the same time too. Manny’d had a crush on her for a bit, but Lily’d been killed not long before Bitter Springs. 

Six looks mildly disappointed at his answers. She’s searching for something, he thinks. She’d obviously hoped those names would have meant something to him, but they don’t. He wonders what they mean to her.

She keeps her hat on, pulled over her face so it’s cast entirely in shadow. The hat and the duster together; she must look like an approaching shadow from a distance. 

Boone, though he found the hat ridiculous before, envies her the shade it must give her. Perhaps that’s why she wears it. 

They reach the top of a ridge by late morning, and when they look down, they find the Legion camp. Through his scope, he can see the slaves. Two men, Powder Gangers looks like. If all goes well, they can be saved from a life of agony. But those men in crimson are his focus. Whatever happens, they die.

“I count eight,” Six says. She’s on her belly next to him, looking through her binoculars.

Boone makes an affirmative noise while she checks her revolver, making sure it’s loaded and counting the spare ammo in an inside pocket of her jacket. 

“Got a plan?” Boone asks.

As far as weapons, he’s got his rifle, of course, and plenty of ammo for it. Then he’s got his sidearm, an old 10mm pistol, and a knife strapped to his ankle. 

He eyes Six’s varmint rifle. It’s a juvenile weapon, and it looks like it’s on the brink of falling apart. It’s old. She doesn’t seem to have much intention of using it. The revolver is in much better shape. 

“You’ll be of most use up here,” she says. Boone has to agree. “I’ll get in close and cut the slaves loose. Cover me.”

Boone makes another affirmative noise. He’s ready, eager to start shooting.

Six disappears. She circles around the ridge, taking the route with the most cover. It should lead her directly to where the men are tied, assuming she isn’t seen first. 

In this midmorning sun, sneaking isn’t easy. Her dark clothes are a stark contrast against the desert sand, but he’s surprised at how quickly and quietly she moves. She’s like a shadow flying across the sand. 

Things go as well as they possibly could.

Six is spotted, a few shots from a legionnaire on watch make that clear enough. They thud into the dirt at her feet but she’s able to dart away to avoid getting hit. 

Boone lines up his shot and pulls the trigger. Frankly, it’s beautiful. The bullet flies home, perfectly between the man's eyes, his brains exploding in a magnificent rain of blood. 

It alerts the rest of the camp to the danger, but it also buys Six the time she needs to find cover. Boone lines up a few more shots, taking out the perimeter. He’s on his third kill when he checks on Six again. 

She’s dashing from cover to cover, letting bullets fly from her revolver. She’s actually pretty good with it. She seemed kind of green to him before, what with her rusty varmint rifle. But she knows what she’s doing. 

Boone gets one of the guys chasing her, once through the chest, once through the stomach. He falls, leaving only one left. Six vanishes behind one of the tents, quickly followed by the last remaining legionnaire. Boone can’t get a clear shot before he loses sight of him. 

They reappear in a moment, locked in a close-quarters tangle. Six is the smaller of the two, she’s at a disadvantage. She must be stronger than she looks because she’s certainly not making it easy for the man.

Boone aims, but he can’t take a shot without the risk of hitting Six. He curses to himself. Their wrestling is too unpredictable.

The legionnaire manages to knock the revolver from Six’s hand. She dances back for a split second, dragging a knife from a sheath on her thigh with a snarl. Even from a distance, Boone can see a fire in her eyes. 

She darts forward, slashing at the man's ribs. She leaves a shallow cut in the armor, barely breaking through to the skin, but it startles the man. He’s slow in drawing his machete, leaving Six with an opening. This time, she goes for the throat, only narrowly missing when the legionnaire reels backward. Six has to take bigger steps to catch up with him, but she’s quick.

His machete is drawn now, he’s brandishing it at her like a taunt. Six seems unphased. 

Despite having the shorter blade, Six is a lot faster. Her jabs are quick and purposeful and her dodges are the same. The legionnaire swings at her in slow, wide arcs which she ducks with practiced ease, using his moments of recovery as openings to dart in close.

It’s a dangerous dance. Boone follows them with his scope, waiting for a chance, a good shot, but they’re still moving too fast and too unpredictably for him to safely take a shot.

Suddenly, her opponent darts forward, swinging the machete in an upward motion. Six barely escapes, stumbling backward. The machete is heading straight for her chest as she struggles to find her footing again. 

Boone takes a shot. It’s not an ideal shot. Six is between him and the legionnaire, leaving only a sliver of the left side of his body clearly in Boone’s line of sight.

The bullet thuds into the ground next to his left foot, startling him and knocking him off balance.

It’s enough. Six recovers quickly and lunges forward, driving the knife upwards into the man's throat. He gurgles for a second, staring at her with wide, stunned eyes before his knees give out and he collapses. 

Boone gets to his feet, jogging down the hill to Six, who is pulling her knife out of her victim's throat with very little difficulty. 

“Nice shootin’,” she says, giving him a twisted grin.

He makes a noncommittal noise, surveying the remains of the camp. 

Six wipes her blade clean on her pants and kneels down to cut the would-be slaves loose. They don’t even give Six so much as a thank you before they scramble away, disappearing into the desert haze. 

She starts stripping the bodies, emptying their pockets, and examining their weapons. She finds a cowboy repeater that appears to be in decent shape and slings it over her shoulder. The other guns she disassembles at record speed, pulling out potentially useful or valuable parts and shoving them in her pockets. Once she’s done that, she moves on to the footlockers and containers scattered around the camp, grabbing anything useful.

Boone watches her curiously. She strips bodies and clears out a camp like an expert prospector. 

She catches him looking and smirks. He tries to focus on how good it felt to finally be out here, killing legion scum instead. 

“Pisses me off that Legion slavers can just operate on NCR turf like that,” he says, somewhat abruptly. Six glances at him but doesn’t say anything. “If we hadn't caught up to them they'd probably have had a clear path to the river. No one to stop them.  There should be patrols. Checkpoints. We got greedy, overstretched. Now our own territory isn't secure.”

Six sighs, swinging her slightly more full pack back over her shoulder. “This region’ll never be stable until the Legion is wiped off the face of the earth. We might not be able to kill them all, but it is damn satisfying to kill a few.”

Boone makes an affirmative noise. 

“Shall we?” Six asks, cocking her head in the direction of the main road and Novac. 

Boone nods and they head out. 

~

They’re nearly back to Novac when Boone speaks. The sun is getting low in the sky. Boone recons they could make it to Boulder City by sundown, but Six may want to stop and do some trading in the town. He doesn’t relish another night in his old room, but he’ll do it anyway.

“Where’d you get the intel on that party?” He asks, instead of asking for her preference on the evening's plans.

“Guy in Nipton. One of the survivors.” Six’s voice is especially cold. 

“The survivors?”

“Guess word hasn’t quite gotten around yet, huh?” Six looks tense, almost angry. “Legion wiped out Nipton. Passed through there on my way here. It was… it was bad.”

Boone shudders involuntarily. “What are they doing this far west?”

“Beats me,” Six frowns. “I don’t like it, though.”


	3. Beat the Devil's Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone finally learns a bit more about Six's game.

_ You have forsaken _

_ All the love you've taken _

_ Sleepin' on a razor _

_ There's nowhere left to fall _

_ Your body's aching _

_ Every bone is breakin' _

_ Nothin' seems to shake it _

_ It just keeps holdin' on _

_ -Beat the Devil’s Tattoo, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club _

_ “Son, the greatest trick the Devil pulled was convincing the world there was only one of him.” _

_ ― David Wong, John Dies at the End _

Six is especially irritable the next morning. It doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Boone in particular. It’s just a general, mild fury towards anything and everything in sight.

They leave at dawn. Six’s pack is considerably lighter after trading with Cliff and a wandering caravan. With some more caps in her pocket, you’d think she’d be in a decent mood.

They hardly say a word to each other, which suits Boone fine except he feels like he’s traveling with a grenade that’ll go off at any second. 

She keeps her hat pulled low over her face as they walk, shielding her eyes from the sun and she’s moving slower than normal.

“Are you hungover?” Boone asks, finally, suspecting the reason for her foul mood.

Six wheels around to stare at him. “What?” There’s a sharp catch in her voice.

“Are you hungover?” Boone repeats. He’s been waiting for the catch with her and a substance issue is definitely a catch. Not necessarily a dealbreaker, depending on the severity of the problem, but certainly a catch.

She lets out a cold laugh. “Fuck you,” she says amiably. “Nah, just get these headaches sometimes. It’ll pass.”

And with that, they’re moving in silence again. Boone seems to have entertained her somehow or her headache is beginning to fade because her mood lightens slightly as they go.

When they reach Boulder City, she seems almost excited, eager. Boone starts to ask who they’re looking for here. He assumes this old friend she spoke of is NCR, because there aren’t many others around here, not since the quarries stopped bringing this place limestone to make into concrete. 

Six heads straight for the group of NCR troopers standing around, having an animated conversation. One of them catches sight of the approaching pair and moves to intercept them.

“We've got a situation with some Great Khans right now. The brass at McCarran has ordered me to lock down the ruins until it's been resolved,” he tells them in a practiced, very official voice. 

Six’s eyebrow ticks up slightly. “What’s going on with the Khans?”

“One of my patrols was on its way back from Novac when it came under fire from the Great Khans. They radioed for reinforcements, but instead of waiting for us, they chased the Khans into the ruins where they were caught in a crossfire. No deaths, but not all of the squad got out. The Khans have Private Ackerman and Private Gilbert as hostages.”

Boone can’t quite read the look on Six’s face. She’s badly hiding a smirk, and he gets the unpleasant feeling that she knows something no one else here does. 

“What are you going to do about the hostages?” She asks.

The trooper sighs. “Acceptable casualties, I've been told. I don't like it, but the brass has their reasons.”

Six grimaces slightly. She seems to think for a moment before she speaks again. “I could talk to them, try to cut a deal.”

The officer looks at her, shock and suspicion mingling on his face. “Normally, I'd turn you down since I have no idea who you are, but considering that the hostages are as good as dead when we attack…” he chews his lip, sighing angrily. “All right, I'm going to give you a chance to talk to the Great Khans. Their leader is a man named Jessup. If we hear shooting, we'll be coming in, but it'll probably be late for you.”

Six nods. “I understand.”

She heads for the gate, not even checking if Boone is still following her. She checks her revolver and her new repeater is hanging on her shoulder. 

“What’s your game here? What about your ‘old friend’?” Boone tugs on her shoulder.

She gives him a strange look, as though she’d forgotten he was there. “My game? It’s these Khan’s, Boone. They’re the ones I want. I need to talk to them.”

“So, what’s the game plan then?” It’s not that Boone didn’t think she could talk the Khan’s out of killing the hostages. It’s more that, so far, charming or charismatic were not words he’d use to describe her. Words like “deadly loose cannon” came to mind instead. “Really gonna try to talk ‘em down?”

“Try? Yeah, I’ll try.” She doesn’t seem particularly committed to the diplomatic approach. 

“And if that doesn’t work?”

She shrugs. “We’ll improvise.”

Boone doesn’t have time to try to talk a solid plan into her head. She’s laser-focused on this, for some reason.

He follows, against his better judgment. There’s something going on here that he doesn’t entirely understand. And he owes Six, just enough. Enough to watch her back through whatever this is. So he follows.

The Great Khans inside the gate, past the line of NCR waiting for orders, regard Six and Boone suspiciously. Even with Boone’s beret, they don’t really look like NCR. Six definitely doesn’t. So they pass easily. Boone catches sight of the hostages and makes a mental note of their location, just in case.

They go into a building.

The man they find on the inside, the leader it seems, has a ginger mohawk and a white bandana around his head. His face when he sees Six is one of pure confusion, maybe a bit of fear. He knows her, Boone realizes instantly. Somehow, Six and this Khan, Jessup probably, know each other.

Six, on the other hand, seems to be perfectly pleased, an expression of mock friendliness spreading across her face. 

“What the hell?” Jessup’s voice quakes. “You're that courier Benny wasted back in Goodsprings. You're supposed to be dead.”

_ Benny? _ Six had asked him if that name meant anything to him. It hadn’t.  _ Wait, wasted? Supposed to be dead? _

“I'm a ghost, here to haunt you,” Six deadpans. “Oooooh…” Her hand reaches for her iron, ghosting across the handle. Her whole body is taught, braced, ready for action. 

“All right, quit fucking around.” He rolls his eyes. “You survived and you tracked us down. Congrats. What now?”

“I want answers,” Six says, her voice careful and measured. “You’re gonna give ‘em to me. Who the fuck is Benny?”

“He's one of the Chairmen, big shots who run The Tops casino in New Vegas. A friend from the city contacted me with info on a big job. I should've known that the caps were too good to be true, but there was still no way I could pass up the chance.”

“And the chip? Where is it?” Six cocks her head to the side.

“You still give a damn about that? After everything?” The man shrugs. “Don't have it. Benny stole it, right before he stabbed us in the back. He's probably back at the Strip by now, laughing at me.”

“Yeah, I give a damn,” Six snarls, her false-friendly demeanor vanishing. “It was important enough for you lot to kill over. Why would Benny betray you?”

“He's a snake, that's why. He owed us the rest of the pay for the job, so maybe he didn't want to pay up.”

“What do you know about the chip?”

“Just a big, fancy poker chip as far as I know. Don't know why anyone would make one out of platinum, though.”

“You don’t know why Benny wanted it?”

“I dunno why the fuck Benny wants anything.” Jessup puts his arms up in exasperation. “Look, I’m sure you’re goddamn pissed about gettin’ shot and all, but it was just a damn job. A shitty one, at that. It wasn’t personal.”

Six chuckles. “Yeah, just like lettin’ the NCR tear you apart, hostages or not, wouldn’t be personal. Survival of the fittest, right? My associate and I could just walk away, ‘stead of tryin’ to make sure none of you end up dead.”

“Ah, go to hell,” Jessup waves her off but she holds her ground. 

“I ain’t fuckin’ with ya. Let's negotiate, come to an… understanding. We can sort all this out.”

Six leans lazily against the wall. She’s gotten what she wants, but she hasn’t abandoned the hostages after all. She hasn’t lost sight of them. Boone feels the ghost of a smirk on his face. They’re holding all the cards.

“What's to negotiate? The NCR backs off, we walk out of here, nobody gets hurt.”

“So no chance you’re willing to surrender?” Six’s hand ghosts over the handle of her revolver again and Jessup eyes her.

Jessup laughs. “And face NCR ‘justice?’ No thanks. I'd rather not spend the next ten years doing hard labor.”

Six chews her bottom lip. “Free the hostages now, and I'll have the NCR escort you out of their territory.”

That’s a big promise to keep, but Six has a hard look in her eyes that says she’s at least going to try and make it happen. 

Jessup responds with a frustrated sigh. “I can't believe I'm doing this, but all right, the hostages can go. The NCR had better keep their end of the deal, though. Here - a souvenir for you. It's Benny's lighter. Shove it up his ass when you catch up with him.”

He tosses it to Six who catches it with one hand. It’s a silver flip lighter, intricately engraved. Six stares at it for a moment then she nods her head at the Khan and heads for the door.

Six doesn’t speak as they go. Boone is sure her head is spinning. His sure is.

Jessup was hired by Benny to help kill her. Six was shot. No wonder she’s had a one-track mind this whole time. She’s not looking to meet up with an old friend, she’s looking to catch up to Benny and kill him. Revenge. That’s a motive Boone can understand.

The Khan’s cut the hostages loose and Boone feels a small swell of pride when they catch sight of the Lieutenant.

“I'm glad you were able to get my people freed, but there's a new problem. I just got orders to take out the Great Khans, hostages or not.”

Six’s face turns quickly sour. “The Great Khans let the hostages go in exchange for their own freedom,” Six says, just short of a snarl.

“My hands are tied. I can't go against orders... can I?”

“If you have any integrity at all, then you'll honor the deal.” 

The Lieutenant sighs. He’s clearly under a lot of pressure, and, though Boone thinks Six means well, she certainly isn’t helping with that. “You're right. The Great Khans are free to go.”

Six exhales and Boone realizes he was holding his breath.

~

They sit in the Bighorn Saloon, both nursing beers. Normally, Boone wouldn’t drink at all when he’s still got traveling to do that day, but it’s already been a long day. 

Six is halfway through her second cigarette. She’s got a leather notebook open on the bar in front of her and is scribbling furiously in an untidy scrawl that Boone is not even going to attempt to decipher. 

They haven’t spoken at all. Boone can’t tell what sort of mood Six is in. She’s quiet, but she’s always been somewhat quiet. So he settles for watching her out of the corner of his eye, reminded of the feeling he had earlier in the day of traveling with a grenade that could go off at any time. 

When she finishes her scribbling, she’s finished her cigarette and her beer. She goes to light another one but pauses when she sees him.

She sighs. “I owe you some answers, seeing as I dragged you into this.”

He doesn’t respond, but he turns to face her directly, his forest eyes meeting her misty blue ones. 

She takes off her hat. Boone realizes it’s the first time he’s seen her without it, ‘cause he’d sure as shit remember seeing the bloody bandage wrapped around her head.

“A week or so ago, I was delivering a package to the Strip for the Mojave Express. This Benny character, the man in the checkered suit, he shot me and took my package.” She says it all so matter-of-factly, like she’s telling a story about a friend of a friend of a friend. 

Boone’s eyes silently roam the rest of her body. The only wound in sight is the one on her head, but if she’d taken a bullet to the brain, there’s no way she’d be sitting here right now. He sees no traces of other wounds, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, hiding under her duster.

“Why?” Boone asks finally. “What was the package?”

Six shrugs. “A platinum poker chip. Dunno what’s so special about it. Must be something, though, ‘cause not a lot of big-shot Vegas types’d trek all the way out here to ambush a random courier.”

He has a billion questions, but he doesn’t push her to tell more than she wants to. She’s asked him questions before, about himself, his personal life, his past, but she’s never pressed him when he’s told her to back off. He’ll extend the same courtesy to her.

They sit in silence for a bit. Six puts her hat back on. Boone finishes his beer. Six lights another cigarette. She offers him one and he takes it, leaning in so she can light his. He hasn’t smoked in a long time. He used to a lot, back in the NCR. But Carla hated the habit and he’d kicked it when they got married. 

“Carla used to say these things’d kill me,” he says, somewhat unnecessarily.

Six chuckles. “If I live long enough for that to happen, I call that a win. We’re much more likely to be killed by a Legionnaires machete or a stray raiders bullet than a damn cigarette.”

“Heh, fair enough,” Boone says, allowing himself a wry smirk. The smoke does feel damn good.

“Listen, Boone,” Six sounds suddenly very serious. “I know you signed on to kill Legionnaires, not follow some asshole to Vegas with me. If you wanna go your own way, I’ll understand. No hard feelings.”

Boone meets her eyes. “You helped me get my revenge. That’s about the one motive I really understand right now. So I’m with you.”

“For real, Boone. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know,” he says.

She exhales a breath of relief. “Well, uh… thanks. We make a good team, so far.”

“That we do.”


	4. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six isn't without her scars. Boone understands.

_ We watched the bands until the stars _

_ Burned out the morning sky _

_ You dragged me in, became the skin _

_ That keeps me warm at night _

_ All that you left me was a number _

_ On the back of my hand _

_ I kissed the poison on your lips _

_ 'Til I was paralyzed _

_ Now all the chemicals are burning _

_ Right between my eyes _

_ All that you left me was a number _

_ On the back of my hand _

_ I got nothing _

_ Woohoo Woohoo! _

_ So I've been walking, I'm gonna find you _

_ Through every backstreet, I will run through (Ooo) _

_ I count the days (Ooo) 'til I carry you home _

_ Your hand in my hand _

_ Woohoo Woohoo Hoo! _

_ -Hands, Barns Courtney  _

_ “If everyone you knew jumped off a bridge, would you too?” Dr. Roger asked. _

_ David had heard this before and knew you were supposed to say no. But was that really true? If everyone jumped off a bridge, maybe there was a good reason. Maybe the bridge was on fire. If anything, the guy who didn’t jump was the crazy one.” _

_ ― John M. Cusick, Girl Parts _

The New Vegas lights remind Boone uncomfortably of Carla. The last time he was here, he and Carla got married. 

It had been a gaudy event. The ceremony was held by the fountain outside the Ultra-Luxe and the reception was in the casino itself. Carla had a lot of friends who’d attended. Boone’s family had traveled from California for the event and First Recon had been there too. Manny had been his best man.

Oh how the times change. 

When Boone left, he’d never imagined he’d ever have a reason to come back here. 

Six doesn’t seem phased by the city lights. They dazzle most people, but, despite her statement that she’s never been here before, she doesn’t seem to care much.

It’s dark by the time they get through the gates to Freeside. This part of town certainly hasn’t improved much. It’s still a slum. The sounds of yelling and breaking glass can be heard echoing off ruined buildings. 

Boone suggests they spend a night at the Atomic Wrangler and Six makes a noncommittal noise that Boone assumes is some form of agreement. 

They almost make it there before someone tries to mug them. That doesn’t go well because Six apparently has a pretty fast draw. Her revolver goes off with a bang before Boone entirely registers the man with the knife in front of them. 

The room only has one bed. Neither wants to spend more caps on a second room. They make eye contact, a wordless agreement. It’s no use passing up a chance at a real bed and not having to set watch; they’ll sleep back-to-back like soldiers in the field tonight. 

The radio in the corner of the room crackles to life when Six clicks it to the first station that isn’t just static. Mr. New Vegas’s voice fills the room. Wordlessly, they both set about emptying their packs and commencing the usual evening upkeep. 

Boone begins cleaning his rifle. He hasn’t done it in a while and it’s already seen more action in the two days he’s been with Six than it has in months prior. He’s going to have to take better care of it. 

He settles on the edge of the bed with his tools. He can see Six out of the corner of his eye. She’s spread her things out in the middle of the floor and is now meticulously stripping the salvage she’s picked up for it’s more valuable pieces. She’s already completely taken apart an old camera and pulled out the internal mechanisms. 

She’s abandoned her hat and duster, both in a heap next to her pack, and she’s stripped off the slightly-overly large striped button-down she was wearing under it, leaving her in just her black trousers and a vaguely-white wife beater. 

He still doesn’t see bandages anywhere other than her head, but they might just be underneath the tank top.

By the time Boone has finished with his rifle, Six has two piles on either side of her, one full of springs and gears and wires and the other bits of plastic and scrap metal she’s pulled off of things. 

She’s fiddling with the rusty varmint rifle now. She has it in pieces in front of her. She’s got a screwdriver in her mouth. 

She looks up at him and Boone realizes he’s been staring.

“Piece a’shit gun,” Six says, screwdriver still between her teeth. She grabs it, delving into the internal parts of the gun. “Most of its unsalvageable, but these gears and springs oughta fetch a pretty penny.”

“Where’d ya get it?” 

“Goodsprings. Was a gift, of sorts.”

Boone chuckles. “Prolly wanted to get rid of it. If you hadn’t taken it apart, it woulda fallen apart on ya anyway.”

“Was all they could spare for me,” Six shrugs. “Didn’t want me out in the wastes entirely unarmed.”

“Fair enough.”

Boone watches her work. She really seems to know her shit. She pulls out pieces Boone didn’t even know were there. Once she finishes, she tucks everything into the smaller pockets in her pack. 

Earlier, they’d only had a beer apiece, what with a long walk still ahead of them, but now Six sucks back the bottle of wine she’d purchased from the bar while Boone paid for their room with a level of enthusiasm that’s honestly a bit shocking. 

She settles herself in front of the mirror with the bottle, unraveling the bandage around her head. 

Boone watches with some interest as she reveals the two ugly wounds. They’ve been stitched up, by a professional it looks, at least from a distance. It looks like a hell of a lot more than a bump to the head.

Six glances at him. She can probably see him watching through the mirror. 

“Just ask,” she says.

Boone isn’t sure how to ask what he’s thinking. “You got shot.”

“Yes.” It wasn’t really a question, but she answers like it was anyway.

“In the head.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but no words come out. “Yes…” she manages after a moment. 

She goes back to examining the wounds. They’re ugly and they’re going to scar ugly. 

How is she even alive? Boone’s never been one for questions, but he certainly has a few. 

“Those stitches are gonna need to come out soon,” Boone says instead of asking any of the things he wants to. He’s no doctor, but he’s stitched up his fair share of wounds in the field.

She sighs and raises the bottle of wine as an explanation.  _ Oh. _ She wants to take them out herself.

“Should get a doctor to look at them.”

Six turns to look at him. “Yeah, maybe, but… dunno, rather just do it now.”

Boone gets up and moves over to her. She startles when he settles next to her, but when he reaches for the tiny medical scissors she’s holding, she surrenders them without question and takes another swig of the wine.

“Shouldn’t do it drunk,” he says, by way of explanation.

She shrugs. He turns so he has better access to the wound. She lets him.

The scars stretch past her hairline a little, but the bulk of the raised tissue is on the right side of her forehead. Boone tries not to think about what this felt like as he pulls out the stitches. 

Six, who doesn’t seem drunk, despite having over half a bottle of wine in her system, doesn’t wince or flinch more than a couple of times. 

“So, those headaches of yours,” Boone begins.

“Another souvenir Benny left me with, yeah,” Six finishes.

No wonder she’s hunting Benny down. If someone had shot Boone in the head, he’d want them dead too. 

When Boone finishes, the scars are still puckered and ugly, and a little pink, but the stitches drew a lot of attention to them. Now, they blend in with her face a lot better. At first glance, people won’t notice them. He suspects she’ll still wear her hat low over her face when at all possible though.

“Thanks,” Six says, sitting up. 

She offers him the bottle and he takes a swig. It’s shitty wine, but the quality doesn’t necessarily mean it won’t get you drunk as fast as a good wine. He hands it back and she finishes it off in a spectacular chug.

“It’s late,” he says, glancing at her pip-boy, which is off and resting by her jacket and duster. The clock on it reads  _ 12:48 _ . “Should get some rest.”

“Yeah,” Six agrees, standing and stretching. 

She takes off her boots and her socks, then she settles on the bed. She takes the spot furthest from the door and she turns so she’s facing the wall, not him. Boone prefers this. He wants to be facing the door, just in case. Old paranoias, no, old habits die hard. 

He lies down, his back to her. They aren’t quite touching, but they’re close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off her body. 

Neither of them, it seems, has an easy time falling asleep. Six shifts every so often, but eventually her breath evens out and she goes still.

Boone’s own restless sleep follows soon after.

~

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sleeping, or rather, half sleeping, when he’s woken.

His dreams were fractured, bloody, and violent, and he nearly brings his fist down on the figure next to him when he’s jostled awake. Before he does, though, he remembers it’s just Six. She probably just bumped him in her own sleep.

He opens his eyes. Six is lying on her back at the edge of the bed. Her breathing is ragged.

Boone has been around the block a few times. He’s seen things that haunt his dreams. He’s been around some of the most traumatized people one can find. He can recognize it.

A strangled moan escapes Six’s mouth. She’s wincing and twitching slightly. Whatever she’s dreaming about, it’s rough.

Boone shakes her as gently as he can. She flinches at the touch and it takes a second for her eyes to open. When they do, they snap open. She sits up, eyes darting around, trying to regain her bearings.

“Shit,” she breathes, panting. “Fuck, Boone. Sorry.”

He shrugs it off. “S’nothin’.”

He’s woken up howling, reaching for a knife. Once, he nearly strangled Manny when the other sniper had tried to wake him from a nightmare. A little panic and disorientation is nothing compared to that, at least as far as Boone is concerned.

Six finds her pack and pulls out her canteen. She settles on the floor and takes a few long swigs, her eyes anywhere but him. He understands, so he lies back down and closes his eyes. If she wants to talk about it, she will. 

She doesn’t talk about it. Boone pretends to be asleep for a while before he feels the bed dip. She lies back down, her back to him, right at the edge. 

~

Getting onto the Strip proves more difficult than Boone had previously realized. 

It must’ve been a thing the last time he was here, but he doesn’t remember the credit check. He’d come into Vegas on the monorail, though, being on leave from the NCR. They didn’t enforce a credit check on the monorail.

By the time they get back to the Atomic Wrangler, Six is fuming. He can understand what it must feel like, to be so close to the goal, to her revenge, only to find yet another obstacle in the way.

At the bar, they count how many caps they have between them. It’s not enough. Six has her parts to sell, and that should give them a bit more, but they both doubt if it’ll be enough to get them in. 

So they take a few jobs from the Garret twins and Six heads out to do her trading and make some more caps. They agree to meet back at the Wrangler in the evening.

~

It turns into a long ass day. Boone earns a few caps bodyguarding some pretty green travelers as they try to make their way through Freeside to the Strip. He helps a few of the Followers of the Apocalypse recover some stolen medical supplies from the squatter camps. 

When he gets back to the Wrangler, he’s tired and exasperated, and in desperate need of a beer or two and maybe a smoke if he can manage to bum one off Six.

She’s already there when he gets back, sitting at the bar, cheerfully chatting up a guy who looks like he just stumbled off a ranch somewhere. Her mood appears to have improved, which is good because she was wound tight this morning. She must’ve done well.

When Boone catches her eye, she waves him down, gesturing to an empty seat at the busy bar. She must’ve saved it for him. He can imagine her growling furiously at anyone who tried to take it and it fills him with a wry sort of pleasure.

He takes the seat.

“Boone,” Six grins. “This is Ringo. He works for Crimson Caravan. Ringo, this is Boone, the grumpy sniper I found in Novac.”

“Howdy,” Ringo says, holding his hand out to shake and wearing an almost sleazy smile.

Ringo is shorter than Boone, with dark hair that’s pushed out of his face. He’s got bright clear eyes, almost enthusiastic. Boone doesn’t think he likes him. 

“Hey,” Boone grunts, pretending not to notice the outstretched hand. 

Instead, he orders a beer. Six wordlessly offers him a cigarette and lights it for him. She’s holding Benny’s lighter, her thumb running along the engravings. She’s already got her own cigarette in her mouth. The girl can really empty a pack. 

“How was your day?” Six asks. 

Ringo’s hand is on her thigh. Boone feels his muscles tense when he notices, but he ignores it. 

He grunts again, taking a long drag so he won’t have to speak. 

Six chuckles. “Yeah, fair enough.”

Boone remembers the caps in his pocket. He reaches into it and drags them out, sliding them across the table to her. Her grin widens. 

“Perfect,” she says with an air of pride. “Combined with what I earned today, I think we have enough.”

“Good,” Boone says noncommittally. “Seems like you did well today.” He’s only half talking about the caps, but he doesn’t know if Six picks up on that. 

“Trying to get on the Strip?” Ringing raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Trouble finds me, whether I like it or not.” Six shrugs. 

“Don’t I know it,” Ringo chuckles, leaning in closer to her. 

“So, pick him up at Crimson Caravan?” Boone asks, not looking at them. 

“Technically, yes,” Six laughs. “Ran into him when I went to pick up my pay for an odd job, but we’ve met before.”

“Six saved my life,” Ringo says. 

The way Ringo’s looking at her is strange. It’s like he already idolizes her. 

Boone raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Six rolls her eyes. “Wasn’t just me. Whole town defended you.”

“Which they only did ‘cause you convinced them to back me up.”

Ringo launches into a somewhat improbable sounding story about Powder Gangers and dynamite and a town called Goodsprings. Six sips a beer and smokes, only half paying attention, like it doesn’t matter to her that Ringo’s spilling tales of her apparent heroics. 

When he finishes, Six punctuates it by saying, “It was just the decent thing to do.”

“Give yourself some damn credit,” Ringo chastises. 

Their interactions are turning more flirtatious and Boone feels like a third wheel. Six’s newfound squeeze is not improving his mood. 

They all suck down a few more beers before Six announces she’s going to walk Ringo back to the Crimson Caravan Company. Boone watches them go, Ringo’s arm around her waist. Something about it bothers him, but he chooses to let it go in favor of one last beer. 

Once he’s finished his drink, he pays for another night in the room and heads up. 

A couple of hours later, Six reappears. She seems tired but in a good mood. 

“We’re gonna get Benny, tomorrow,” Six says distantly as she strips off her hat and duster. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“What’ll you do after?”

Six shrugs. “Dunno. Promised you a Legionnaire hunt. Seems like a decent place to start.”

“What about Ringo?” Boone raises an eyebrow at her. 

She laughs. “Him? Nah, that ain’t anything serious. Just a bit of fun.”

“Maybe you oughta tell him that,” Boone deadpans. “The way he was looking at you…”

“It ain’t going anywhere. Don’t get me wrong, he’s sweet.” Six sits on the bed, tugging off her boots. “But even if I was interested in more, which I ain’t, he’s about to head a new trade route somewhere far as shit from here and I sure don’t plan on sticking around Vegas once Benny’s out of the way.”

Boone just grunts. “Should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

She lies back, her back to him. “Indeed it is.”


	5. I Will Never Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six finally gets her chance at Benny, but things never quite go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are going to be coming a little slower for a minute as I catch up after having some writer's block. I am still working on this and I'm probably going to be snowed in this weekend so lots of time to write.

_ Old heat of a raging fire _

_ Come and light my eyes _

_ Summer's kiss to electric wire _

_ But I'll never die _

_ I will never die _

_ You can bury my body but I'll never die _

_ In the dead of the night _

_ (In the dead of the night) _

_ I'm gonna loose this chain _

_ (I'm gonna loose this chain) _

_ I'm gonna run and run and run and run and run _

_ (Sing on sister) _

_ I'm gonna run and run and run and run and run _

_ I'm coming for you again _

_ (Oh I'm coming for you again) _

_ Oh So let the storm come _

_ -I Will Never Die, Delta Rae _

_ “And now,' said the unknown, 'farewell kindness, humanity, and gratitude! Farewell to all the feelings that expand the heart! I have been heaven's substitute to recompense the good - now the god of vengeance yields to me his power to punish the wicked!” _

_ ― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo _

By the time Boone wakes fully from his usual, fitful sleep, Six is already up. She’s moving around, counting ammo, and shoving her things into her pack. 

If Boone has to guess, he’d guess that she didn’t actually sleep a wink. Not that he can really blame her. 

Wordlessly, Boone packs his things back up and they head out the door. He wonders if they should make a gameplan. Benny’s bound to have bodyguards, even if he doesn’t see Six coming.

That is a bonus, the surprise. The fact that Six is alive is bound to be a shock, and there’s certainly an advantage there.

They pass through the Strip entrance with ease, now that they’ve got the caps for the credit check. 

Six’s muscles are taught. She’s tense as hell, ready for action. Boone thinks she’ll blow through all the chairmen and anyone else who gets in her way if that’s what it takes to get to Benny. And he’ll follow her, back her up. He owes her that much.

Even in the daylight, the lights of New Vegas are bright. At this hour, the sun is just beginning to rise above the edges of the buildings. There aren’t many people about, and those around look mostly like drunken soldiers stumbling back towards the monorail and gamblers trudging home after a long night of bad luck.

When the securitron slides in front of them, Boone half expects Six to pull out her revolver and blast her way through it. “Howdy, pardner! You've come a far piece, haven't you? Welcome to New Vegas!”

“Victor?” She gasps, shock evident on her face.  _ How does she know one of these securitrons? _ “What are you doing here?”

“Consider me your personal welcome wagon!” The robot says cheerfully. His face isn’t a police officer, like the others. It’s a cowboy, and his electronic voice reflects that. “Now hear this - the head honcho of New Vegas, Mr. House, is itching to make your acquaintance. Just head for the Lucky 38. It's the big ol' tower shaped like a roulette spinner.”

Both of them glance at the building in question. No one has ever gone in there before, at least, not that Boone is aware of. And Mr. House has never taken much interest in individuals on the Strip before. In fact, no one really knows anything about him.

Six’s eyes are narrow with suspicion. Evidently, she’s as skeptical as Boone. 

“So that's why you’ve been following me,” Six muses, an edge to her voice. “Why is a robot passing on his invitation?”

“Well now, it was Mr. House who made Securitrons like me. Seems the least I could do is pass on his message.”

“Well, Tell Mr. House I might stop by. We'll see.” Six’s tone is cold.

“Don't you dawdle, little doggie! Mr. House isn't someone you want to go about snubbing. He'll be waiting.”

Victor rolls up the ramp to the deserted casino. Six remains rooted in place, fists clenched. She’s chewing on her lower lip.

“Fuck,” she mutters and follows the robot.

Boone thinks it’s a bad idea, but the last thing Six needs is his paranoia clouding her judgment. 

“Well howdy, pardner! Good to see ya again,” Victor greets them cheerily, as though they hadn’t been speaking moments ago. “Boss is waiting for ya upstairs, so get a move on!”

“Yeah, alright, thanks.” Six moves to go in, but Victor moves in front of her again.

“I see you brought a friend! Sorry, pardner, but he’s gonna have to stay outside.”

Boone instinctively steps closer to Six. 

“What?” She glares at the robot. “No deal.”

“The Boss is pretty clear on this. I can't let you in unless you're by your lonesome.”

Six glances back at Boone. There’s something akin to fear in her eyes, although Boone isn’t sure she feels fear like a normal person. “You’ll be okay out here?” 

She’s the one going into the hornet's nest. “Yeah. You’ll be okay without back up?”

“Can promise ya the boss means ‘er no harm,” Victor reassures.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll see what House has to say, then we’ll go get Benny.”

Boone nods and she nods back. Then she’s disappearing inside the casino with the robot. 

He tries to pretend he doesn’t hate every part of this. When did he get so protective of her? They don’t even know anything about each other. Why did Ringo’s presence last night frustrate him so much? 

He shakes his head, trying to get himself under control. These are questions for a later date. For now, he needs to focus. 

He’s been to the Tops before, even if it was at least a year ago. He tries to recall as much of the layout as possible. There’s a desk right at the entrance, where they handle rooms and such -- fuck, they’ll have to turn in their weapons before they can get further into the casino.

He goes over a billion different ways around this, but they all seem to end in them getting filled with bullets by angry Chairmen, which is not ideal. By the time he’s given up on the line of thought, Six reemerges.

Her face is steely, determined.

“Alright,” she says, a new air of confidence about her. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Yeah?” Boone raises an eyebrow. “We’re gonna have to turn in our weapons to get in, so it better be good.”

“I think I may have found a way around that,” she says, grinning broadly.  _ There’s the Six I know. _ “Come on.”

Boone sticks close as Six leads the way to the Tops. There’s a fire in her eyes and Boone almost pities Benny. Hell’s about to rain down on that prick, and if Boone didn’t know what Benny had done, he’d say no one deserves such a thing. But justice in the Mojave is violent and bloody, and Six deserves her justice more than Benny deserves to live.

When they head in, they’re both searched, their weapons stripped from them. Boone raises an eyebrow at Six and she winks. 

Once the search is over, their weapons safely stored away, Six heads for one of the Chairmen at the desk. 

“Hello, baby!” He says, upon seeing her leaning over the desk. “Welcome to the Tops! What can I do for you?”

“Nice place you've got here.” Six’s voice has taken on a low, sultry quality. Boone would never describe her as charming, but she is a beautiful woman and she’s clearly not afraid to use that to her advantage. “Tell me about it.”

Boone hangs back, keeping an eye out for the checkered suit Six described. Six’ll get what she wants out of the Chairman.

“The Tops? Yeah, sure, you want the nickel tour, ol' Swank's happy to oblige.” He leans in closer to her, pointing as he speaks. “We got everything you could want - slot machines in the back, cards and roulette in the front, fine entertainment upstairs in the Aces Theater. And all with your security personally guaranteed by the Chairmen and Mr. House's own Securitron police. It's the Tops!”

Six listens, or at least, pretends to listen diligently. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Baby, I'm the best thing that ever happened to you.” Something about this guy is really getting on Boone’s nerves. “Name's Swank. This here's my joint.”

“Your joint?” Six sounds almost impressed, but Boone can’t tell if that tone is real. “I thought Benny ran this place?”

_ There it is. _ Her fingers trail up Swank’s arm. His face freezes for a second, but he recovers fast.

“Benny oversees the business, sure, but I run the Tops day to day. I'm his right-hand guy, you dig?”

“Right, of course,” Six chuckles lightly. “Listen, Swank. I think there’s something you oughta know about Benny.”

“Oh yeah?” Swank raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that, doll?”

Six leans in and whispers, slightly too loud, in the man’s ear. “I've got evidence that Benny tried to kill me and stole a Platinum Chip from me.”

Swank backs up in surprise. “Whoa, hey now, kid, that's some kind of serious charge you're dropping. You want to be real careful what you say next.”

Six pulls the lighter out of her pocket, dropping it on the desk between them. “Got this in Boulder City, from some Khan’s he hired to rob and kill me.”

Swank’s face falls. “Yeah, that looks like Benny's lighter all right. Still, not exactly a ton of proof. Got anything else, kid?”

Six rolls her eyes. With a flourish, she takes her hat off, giving Swank a good view of the scar on her face. “He put two goddamn 9mm’s in my skull, Swank. What more proof d’ya want? Benny’s tryin’ to push House out of the picture, take Vegas for himself.”

Swank examines the scar, a torn look on his face. “Jesus, kid, I think we got a real problem on our hands. Can't believe Benny's a no-good stinkin' punk. Trying to play House like that…” He puts his head in his hands. “Tell you what - I'll call Benny, keep him away from his suite. You go search the place. Here's the key, it's on the 13th floor. It's the room with the double doors, can't miss it. Maybe you'll find something we can show to Mr. House and get him arrested.”

“Alright, can-do,” Six takes the key and pushes the lighter back into her pocket.

“Groovy. Here's your stuff back - in case you run into company, you dig? I'll tell the boys to give you a pass to pack some heat. Go on then. Elevators are past the slot machines on your left.”

Their weapons are handed back to them. Boone feels better with a rifle in his hands. Six checks her revolver, more out of reflex than necessity. 

“Boone, sit tight a spell, will ya? Don’t wanna attract too much attention.” Boone doesn’t like her going up alone, but he nods when he sees the pleading look in her eyes.

“Sure,” Boone grunts. “Be careful.”

“I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Then she’s gone, walking at a brisk pace towards the elevators. 

Boone eyes Swank suspiciously. Swank eyes him back. 

Six takes her damn time. Swank keeps looking around anxiously. Boone just watches, mapping the Casino in his mind, keeping an eye out for a checkered suit or Six’s telltale hat and duster.

“So,” Swank says, out of the blue. “She your girl… or something?”

Boone raises an eyebrow. “We work together.”

“Ah,” Swank nods awkwardly. 

Six returns before Swank can make another attempt at conversation.

“You're back. Find anything?” 

“Benny has reprogrammed a Securitron, he's trying to take over the Strip,” Six says coldly.

Swank looks crestfallen. “He's what? Ah jeez... jeez, this is really bad. What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna talk to him,” Six smirks slyly, her hand ghosting over the handle of her revolver. She has the same air of malicious confidence she did back in Novac. “We’ll work something out.”

“Yeah? That's ballsy. Good luck with that.” 

“Swank, honey,” Six leans in. For such a small woman, the power she suddenly carries makes her seem so much larger than Swank. “You best be prepared to run this joint.”

His eyes light up a little, but it conflicts with the stress on his face. Sure, he gets to be head honcho, but it comes at a cost to him. “Yeah, yeah. Be careful doll.”

Six nods then cocks her head at Boone to signal that they’re moving out. 

He follows her further into the casino. Finally, he catches sight of the checkered suit.  _ God, that thing is such an eyesore. _

Six’s eyes narrow. She glances at Boone. 

“I’m with you,” he says.

She nods and walks over. 

Six has balls, that’s for sure. More balls than most men Boone knows. Or maybe those bullets just knocked the healthy amount of fear most people have right out of her noggin. Either way, not many people would just march up to Benny, who’s accompanied by four nasty-looking guys with guns, and tap him on the shoulder.

Benny turns around, a sleazy smile already plastered on his face, but when he sees Six, he turns pale, like he’s just seen a ghost. In a way, he has.

“What in the goddamn...?” He chuckles nervously, scanning the casino before refocusing on Six. “Let's keep this in the groove, hey? Smooth moves, like smooth little babies…” He’s trying to keep his voice low and level, but the man’s scared shitless.

Six smirks. “Howdy, Benny. Long time, no see.”

“Hello!”  _ Light Bulb _ , Boone thinks sarcastically. “That broad everyone saw go in the Lucky 38, that was you?” He chuckles, then understanding flashes across his face. “Shit.”

“Seems  _ you _ need to work on your marksmanship.” Six leans back against the railing, Boone standing just behind her like a shadow (a very ominous, grumpy shadow).

“I hit what I was aiming for. Guess you had brains to spare. Or are you just thick-skulled?” Boone steps forward, ready to knock that smartmouth further into Benny’s face, but Six stops him with a wave of her hand. Benny chuckles nervously again. “Either way, baby, this is good news. Maybe I can finally sleep at night, knowing you didn't die.”

“Heh, go fuck yourself,” Six says amiably. “I want the chip, Benny. Give it to me, and maybe we can discuss whether you get to live or die.”

“I can't do that, baby, and you know it. There's a lot of angles to this caper - complexities aplenty.” Benny’s demeanor changes just enough to put Boone on edge. “But plenty of action, too - enough for both of us. But we don't jabber about that out here in public.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Six grunts through gritted teeth. “Give me the chip, and maybe, just maybe, you live to see another day.”

“Can't do that, baby. The Chip, it's… _special_. But savor this, baby, I _can_ comp you the Presidential - best suite in the house. After what you been through, you deserve a taste of the VIP lifestyle.  Give me a moment or two to catch my breath and knock back a few cocktails, and I'll swing by for a meet and greet. I'll clue you in, guaranteed - every question answered. This can be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Six’s eyes narrow. “Why the fuck should I trust you?”

“I know, I made a bad first impression. You got every reason to think I'm a creep. But baby, this is an 18 karat opportunity. I've got the Chip, but to see this shin-dig through to the end? I'm gonna need help. And hello! Who shows up but you? It can't be a coincidence, baby. You and me were meant to work together.”

Six looks away, chewing her lip, weighing her options. 

If they go up to the suite, there’s a solid chance they’ll be ambushed. But Six could get answers and that’s something she clearly wants, too. And down here, well, if things turn sour, and they’re bound to, a lot of civilians could get caught in the crossfire.

No matter what Six decides, Boone’ll follow her. He hopes she knows she’s not alone in this.

“All right,” she sighs heavily. “I'll meet you in the Presidential Suite.”

“Baby, wow-ee wow wow! You and me are gonna swing! Here's the key. I'll be by in a few... just as soon as my legs stop shaking.”

Benny walks away briskly, checking behind him as if he expects one of them to put a bullet in his back, which does seem like a valid fear to Boone. He’s considering it, but he glances at Six. She looks upset, angry, furious, and maybe just a little terrified. 

“Ready to finish this?” Boone asks.

Six shrugs. “He’s gonna ambush us in there, isn’t he?”

“It’s definitely a possibility,” Boone agrees. “Maybe he’ll actually talk, though.”

“Nah, he’s a damn snake. Just gotta be ready for whatever play he makes. Whatever happens, ain’t nothin’ I won’t do to make sure he pays.”

Boone nods. “I’m with you.”

“Thanks,” she grins. “Both of us together, world don’t stand a damn chance. Let’s get this done.”

They head to the elevator and ride it up to the suite. 

Boone doesn’t like it. It’s gaudy and badly lit and smells a bit too much of booze and smoke. The walls are a shade of puke green that hurts Boone’s eyes.

Maybe Benny expected them to sit down, take a load off, but both of them stand somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyes on the entrance, ready for whatever’s going to come through it.

The intercom crackles to life.

Benny’s voice comes through, smooth as shit now that he’s safe in another room. “ _ Baby, this little reunion of ours? Chalk me up as a no-show. I'm surprised you fell for it, not that I'm complaining. You caused plenty enough trouble, turning Swank against me. You've forced my hand. Hell, I gotta skip town because of you. A real pain in the caboose… _ ”

Six’s eyes turn wild. She’s moving before Boone can stop her, finger jamming into the intercom button. “You’re a fucking dead man, Benny!” She hisses furiously.

“ _ That temper of yours? Kinda why this conversation's taking place over an intercom. _ ” His laugh is sadistic. “ _ Do me a favor and stay dead this time, hey? Good night all! It's been a gas.” _

The intercom clicks off. The elevator dings. Boone registers what's happening just a second before the doors begin to open. 

“SIX!” He shouts, but she’s already diving behind the nearest cover, a sickly-green couch.

He ducks behind the bar, pulling his rifle around.

Bullets start flying. Four chairmen, Benny’s bodyguards, move in, submachine guns going off. Boone manages to get a shot off before he has to duck down again. Glasses and liquor bottles are exploding on the bar above them.

He hears the telltale sound of Six’s revolver. He counts the shots.  _ One, two.  _ A thump lets him know one of the guys went down. Boone catches a chance and takes another out.  _ Three, four, five. _ Boone ducks back behind the bar, managing to catch sight of Six’s position.  _ Six. _ The last shot goes off and she dives back behind the couch to reload. 

Boone gets another shot off, catching a chairman in the shoulder, then another shot to the stomach. One left. Boone’s only got one bullet left, though. He hopes Six is about done reloading. 

The last remaining chairman turns his attention to Boone behind the bar. He’s creeping around when Six pops back out, firing another pair of shots. One flies too high, the other grazes the man's arm. 

He turns around, letting bullets fly from the submachine gun. Six is fast, but no one’s really faster than a bullet. She cries out and crumples, but Boone can’t see where she’s hit. He leaps to his feet, firing his last bullet. It flies home, catching the man right in the chest.

Boone doesn’t bother to check their kills. They’re either dead or dying. He finds Six, who’s propped herself up against the wall, one hand clutching her right side, just under her ribs. Blood is already blooming against her shirt.

“Benny,” Six grunts, her eyes glassy. “He’s gettin’ away.”

Boone finds the first aid kit in his pack, grabbing a pair of stimpacks and injecting them into her. “And you’re in no shape to follow him right now. Just keep your eyes open.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He lifts her bridal style into his arms. “Keep as much pressure on it as you can.”

She moans at the movement, her eyes fluttering.

“Six!” He says forcefully. They get in the elevator and he manages to punch the button with the side of his arm. “Keep those eyes open.”

“I fucked it up,” she says, her voice getting weak. At least she’s talking. “Knew it was gonna be an ambush… didn’t count on ‘im bein’ such a damn coward.”

“I know,” Boone agrees. 

As soon as the elevator opens, he starts jogging. He ignores the looks of horror he receives from civilians and Chairmen alike and Swank's shout when he kicks open the front doors goes almost unnoticed. All that Boone can focus on right now is getting Six to a doctor.

Her eyes drift shut before snapping open again. Her breathing is getting ragged and the blood isn’t slowing down. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, _ Boone thinks. She’s not dying on his watch. They’ve come way too far for that. 

“Keep those eyes open, Six,” he repeats. 

The Followers of the Apocalypse have a camp in Freeside. If he can just get her there in time, she’ll be fine.

“Stay with me,” he mutters. 

She’s barely able to keep her eyes open. She’s not talking anymore and Boone’s pretty sure she doesn’t have the strength to put much pressure on the wound. Blood has soaked through her button-down shirt, staining it rusty red.

Finally, he reaches the gates. He practically kicks them open, startling more than a few people who’ve been meandering about. One guard starts to draw a weapon but stops short when he sees the dying woman in Boone’s arms. 

A pair of doctors rush over and Six is extracted from his arms. Someone else is guiding him to a chair but he’s stopped processing anything. He just needs to catch his breath. Six is in good hands. She’s fine. She’ll be fine.


End file.
